Page 12 of The Lyon Deception

“Mr. Sutherland! Are you a member here?” she asked, wondering why he had not told her when they had spoken.

He was dressed in another fine jacket and a waistcoat that matched the green in his eyes. His hair was as untamed as ever, the fair curls rioting around his face. He was staring back at her, taking in her cloak, and now he raised his eyebrows. “I am a member. Are you here to play?”

“Definitely not.” She bit her lip on anything more. She wasn’t about to thrust her moral values upon a man she barely knew. Although, was that entirely true? He had kissed her hand when they parted, and he had been kind to them in their hour of need. She did not feel as if he were a stranger.

“I get the sense that you disapprove of games of chance,” he said, and he sounded amused.

“Not at all,” she said coolly. “It is just . . . Well, you know my circumstances. I willna bore you with them again.”

He seemed to grasp her meaning. “You fear the Master will bet your beloved home in one of those games, don’t you? Lady Catriona—”

“Cat,” she interrupted. “It is what my family and friends call me.”

He bowed. “Then I am flattered . . . Lady Cat.”

Now Cat was flustered. Why had she said that? She looked about her, seeking a diversion and remembered she had the perfect one. “I am a wee bit lost,” she said with a laugh. “Well, more than a wee bit. The truth is I am meikle lost. Can you point me the way out, Mr. Sutherland?”

He smiled, and his eyes looked very green in the light of a nearby lamp. “The Lyon’s Den confuses the best of us. And I will do more than show you out. I will walk you to your carriage.”

“Thank you, but I did not bring my carriage,” she admitted. “I came in a hackney.”

He didn’t like that. He frowned as if a young lady alone in a hackney was not the done thing. Now who was making moral judgements! She expected him to tell her off, although he had no right to, but instead he said, “Then I will send Titan to fetch you another.”

Cat breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you,” she said.

It wasn’t far to the door after all, just a few turns and they were there. Titan was the same tall fellow she had seen on her arrival, and he seemed happy to do Mr. Sutherland’s bidding, sending off a young lad to fetch a hackney while Cat waited by his side.

Mr. Sutherland had not asked her what she was doing here at the Lyon’s Den, but surely he must be curious. Heaven knew what he was thinking! That she had a passion for playing deep, or some such thing. He knew about Armytage and Sinclair, so it wasn’t as if her troubles were a secret, and she found herself wanting to confide in him.

“You’re probably wondering why I am here, Mr. Sutherland,” she said.

“I admit to being a little curious,” he replied, his voice muffled by the fog.

“I came to see Mrs. Dove-Lyon and to ask her about the Master of Armytage. I wanted to know if she knew of any way to persuade him to listen to me. And to help me.”

“And did she?” He was watching her closely now.

Cat pulled a face and then laughed at herself. “Not any way that I wanted to hear.”

“She is a very clever woman, but she does go about things in a roundabout way.”

Suddenly Cat didn’t want to talk about it anymore. She pulled her hood back over her hair. “Thank you again for your kindness the other day.”

He smiled. “It was my pleasure. I was hardly going to leave three ladies on the side of the road with a broken wheel.”

“You make it sound as if we were alone in the middle of nowhere rather than a rather elegant square in London!”

“London can be lonely,” he retorted. “One can be in the midst of a crowd and still feel alone.”

Cat eyed him curiously. That sounded as if there were a story behind it, but before she could pry further, he seemed to recollect himself.

“The carriage is repaired and returned to its owner. Not such a difficult repair job. Some of the spokes needed replacing, and the circumference of the wheel was very worn. It also needed a new metal ribbon, but that was the work of a blacksmith.”

“Oh. You seem to know a great deal about it. Are you an expert on broken carriages?” She meant it as a joke, but his answer surprised her.

“I once knew a carpenter and a wheelwright. He was a man with no title—he was an ordinary man—but he was the sort of man I will always admire.”

Cat felt the weight of his words. He had shared a confidence with her, and she was unexpectedly flattered. “A title does not always make a man a good one,” she responded quietly, thinking of Lord Armytage and his grandson.